


Tooth and Nail

by LivaWilborg



Series: Dragonlance - Knight and Kender [3]
Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: 351 years after the Cataclysm, Gen, Kender, Knights of Solamnia, Krynn, War of the Lance will hit Solamnia in a few months, dragonlance - Freeform, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivaWilborg/pseuds/LivaWilborg
Summary: Back in Vingaard Keep, Rowan struggles to make his fellow Knights of Solamnia believe his claim of having fought a true cleric. The council is naturally sceptical and a magic user is called in to give testimony. ...White robed magic users are the good guys, right?!Meanwhile, Raksana discovers there might be a horrendous murderer on the loose, terrorising the people of Vingaard Keep, and takes it upon herself to solve the crime!





	Tooth and Nail

”I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Raksana announced and bent down to pick a stone out of her sandal before jumping along beside Rowan, her multi-coloured bags bobbing around her.

“What is it?” Rowan asked.

“Well, you’re a human, right... a human named after a kind of tree, even …”

“Ehm-“

“So I’m wondering if yew means anything to you?”

“Yew? The tree?” Rowan asked, reminding himself privately that the workings of a kender brain really should have stopped surprising him a while ago.

Rak shrugged: “I guess so?”

“…Yew is good for bows? And very poisonous to horses.”

“Alright?” Rak looked at him expectantly.

Rowan gave a puzzled grin: “Nothing else springs to mind, I’m afraid.”

“What about hay then?” the kender quizzed.

“Hay? Mattress stuffing? It’s stacked on the fields and animals eat it… Why are you asking?”

“Because humans shout it a lot. So I thought it was a sort of human thing? Hay! Yew!” she shouted loudly to illustrate, and several other travellers on the Vingaard Road started in their tracks or turned to stare. Ben, trudging along after Rowan, tossed his head.

Rowan tried not to laugh. He held up his hands to indicate to the other travellers that nothing was amiss. “I’m curious…” he told Raksana. “Do they usually shout it just before chasing _someone_ for some reason?”

“Ye- Ohh! That makes so more much sense!” Rak slapped a hand to her forehead. “I thought humans were just a bit odd. Shouting about plants.” She laughed. “Then they just wanted to get my attention! I thought maybe you people had a secret club or something.”

The copse of forest the road had been winding through gave way to fields and meadows, dotted with small farming communities. The sturdy walls of Vingaard Keep were visible in the distance, the white stones of the city’s towers shining in the warm sunlight. He’d be back in his garrison, and to his little apartment in the communal building, in a couple of hours. He had looked forward to it. To making his report and being rid of Morgannon’s cursed journal. Letting someone better qualified than himself worry about an old god that should be dead.

Now that the city was close, however, the keenness to get back dulled a little as he thought about the report he’d have to make. The likely reactions to it.

 _The secret yew-club…_ he thought, a sinking foreboding of bureaucracy to come sneaking into his mind.

 

o-0-o

 

When they had reached the city, Raksana had obviously been a bit uncomfortable at asking if he would be sad if she left to go explore for a day or two. He had assured her that he wouldn’t feel abandoned and told her where they could meet up again. She had given him a happy grin before dodging into the crowds and disappearing.

That she felt this way made everything a bit easier. Rowan had already gotten more than one suspicious look on the road when people saw him travelling with a kender, though the suspicion became mild confusion if passersby spotted his armour strapped to the saddle bags. To the people of Vingaard and its surroundings, a kender in knightly company was obviously less of a threat to their belongings, although he knew that the chance of him actually preventing her from following her curious nature was slim to non-existent.

Perhaps he should grow that moustache after all and make himself a readily recognisable authority? Then again, he’d held out for almost five years. No sense giving in now…

 

o-0-o

 

A warm bath, a proper meal of more than one ingredient and a soft bed, had done nothing to ease Rowan’s feeling of impending trouble. He was up before dawn and unsurprised when he was summoned to give a statement on his report from the day before.

As he took his seat in a small, grey meeting room in the garrison, he sent Rak a hopeful thought. She was probably skipping happily through the morning sunlight right now, composing poems and laughing to herself about the secret yew-club.

He looked over the three men he had been introduced to, Sir Cedric, Sir Bordan and Sir Ryse. All three were moustached, polite and serious and for a brief moment, the whole situation seemed unreal and bizarre to Rowan.

“You understand that nobody is here to question your honour and veracity?” Sir Cedric, an elderly Knight of the Sword, said kindly, seated as the head of the three man group at the opposite end of the table. “We simply need you to elaborate on this rather startling report you gave to your garrison Master of Arms yesterday.”

“I understand.” Rowan said, his eyes drawn by Morgannon’s journal lying on the table top in front of the three.

“The journal, yes.” Sir Cedric tapped it with his fingertips. “We’ve not been able to figure out what language the majority of it is written in. We are working to find a translator.”

Rowan nodded.

“We understand from your report, that you came to believe the owner of this journal …a true cleric? Albeit of a god of evil.” Sir Ryse, a middle aged Knight of the Rose, asked.

“True.” Rowan said. “Though I’m hoping you can somehow prove me wrong.”

There was a moment where the other seemed about to smile, but managed to keep his serious mien: “In your place, I suppose I’d feel the same. Let’s see if we can’t, then. Prove you wrong. Tell us about your experiences surrounding this Morgannon.”

Rowan nodded, preparing in his mind to tell the story again.  It was going to be a long day.

 

o-0-o

 

Rowan was sitting in the evening sun on a low wall overlooking a small plaza behind the garrison. Feet dangling, he was turning over the events of the day in his mind.

The council had taken him through the report several times, lingering especially on Morgannon’s death. They had seemed firmly committed to convincing both Rowan and themselves that the spells the healer had been casting were simply magic and that Morgannon must therefore have been an evil magic user.

Rowan had politely asked how a mage could heal people, and as desperately as he himself had tried back in Friholm, the council now reasoned that it must simply have been magic. Perhaps it never happened, only in the minds of those it happened to? Though why a mage, so powerful that he could make a whole town full of people believe he was a healer, would be setting up shop in so remote and insignificant an area, was never answered. Or why the man himself would claim to be a worshipper of Morgion. Or how he had healed the guardsmen Rowan had fought, and painfully passed their injuries on.

Like drowning men, the council had clung to the only enigmatic enough explanation: magic. Somehow, for some reason, everything was simply done with magic.

At no point during the many hours the council was in session had Rowan felt that his truthfulness was under attack, though. He was grateful for that and, he had to admit, a tiny bit surprised. He scoffed at himself. Had he really expected his fellow knights to think him a liar?

Sir Cedric had suggested he rest for a few days until they could contact a mage who could verify their theory. Knowing how things worked in the knighthood, it would probably be weeks before the ghost of Morgannon could be laid to rest and he could leave on another assignment.

Rak would be bored to tears long before that happened, he thought, a sadness creeping up on him.

“Rowan! Rowan!”

The familiar sound of Rak’s excited voice cut through his thoughts. “You won’t believe what’s happened!”

The kender came running across the small plaza, waving excitedly, and the few evening pedestrians and shop holders closing down their colourful stalls gave her panicked looks and started counting their money.

“It’s a real quest! A mystery even. And I figured it out. That it exists. I’m going to solve it, and find out who the killer is. And who the dead people are, too. Because right now I don’t actually know for certain. But I just have to find the corpses that are missing all those teeth. And I bet there’s lot of them, because there’s a lot of teeth-“

“Murder?” Rowan interrupted with a sinking feeling at the delighted, flushed look in Raksana’s face as she nimbly jumped up on the wall next to him.

“It’s such a great thing that it was me who picked up the bag, isn’t it? What if it had been someone who didn’t understand how important it-“

“Rak!” Rowan held up his hands to stop her. “Explain. Who’s dead?”

“I’m not sure yet, I told you. How many teeth do you have, can I just count them? I think my teeth are probably human because everyone in this city is hu-“

“Stop! Your teeth?”

“Alright. I’m going to make a really great poem about this, but until then, just look at this.” She took an old faded bag that hung with the others around her small frame and opened it, showing Rowan the contents. “Isn’t it amazing! I mean, except to all those people that they belonged to.”

Rowan stared. At the bottom of the bag, a couple of handfuls of human teeth, both molars, front teeth and incisors, were rolling around as Rak excitedly shook the bag.

“…That’s disgusting.” he said, mind blank.

“I know!” Rak picked one at random, holding it up. “I only have to figure out who they came from. It’s fantastic, isn’t it?” she asked, overjoyed. “And also, I found out that even though you guys don’t have a secret club, you shouldn’t necessarily be polite to people who shout “Hey! You!” because they seem to be just about the rudest humans I ever met, even considering Palanthas, where I suppose it was because of that storm. I even tried to explain to them that a crime had been committed, but they grabbed at me and began chasing me for no reason at all. So next time I meet a heyyou I’m-“

Rowan held up a bag he had brought and Rak stopped, staring at him, puzzled.

He picked up a cake from the bag and stuffed it in her mouth and she grinned, putting the yellowed tooth back in her bag.

“This is good!” the kender commented after a moment through the mouthful of cake, studying the pastry.

“It’s from a bakery down by the South Gate.” He took one as well and for a few moments, they sat in silence, eating and looking out over the plaza.

“So, where did you find the bag?” Rowan finally asked.

Raksana moved so she sat cross-legged on the wall: “Oh, I’m not completely sure. I think maybe it was somewhere by the wall.”

Rowan lifted his gaze. The fortifications surrounding the city were visible no matter where you were within. “That’s a bit vague?” he offered.

Rak frowned, obviously thinking hard while she ate. “There was a gate close by, with grey and blue banners. Maybe North?”

“And did you find it in the street or…”

She snapped her icing-smeared fingers: “You’re a genius! Have you solved crimes before? I guess you have, like with the Bad Priest. I remember it now. I found it by some guy, all strange looking. And I thought it was mine because I have one just like it, so I picked it up, but it wasn’t until much later I looked at it, inside I mean, and found that it wasn’t mine because I don’t have that many teeth. You still didn’t say how many teeth humans have? So can I count them, or do you know? I only have two and they’re maybe from a goat, I think. Not counting the ones in my mouth, of course. So do you think the man I saw was the murderer?”

“I think we have the same number of teeth. And!” he added loudly before she could comment. “What made you think the man you saw was a murderer?”

“He was all scruffy and had a big beard and I thought he looked a bit mean which makes sense if he’s really the one who murdered all the owners of the teeth, doesn’t it?”

“How do you know they are dead? I agree having a bag full of human teeth is …peculiar, but-“

“There’s blood on them. Look!” Rak popped the last piece of cake in her mouth and emptied the teeth out on top of the wall they sat on. Smears of long dried blood were visible on almost all of them.

They both stared at the teeth a moment. Seeing so many body parts out of context was oddly revolting.

“Well, having a tooth knocked out will bleed no matter what. It’s not the same as the owner being murdered.” Rowan finally commented.

“No… But… Isn’t there one of those law-things about carrying teeth around?” Rak said uncertainly, frowning as she scooped the ivories back in the bag. “Humans sometimes say that. That a person should stop all kinds of things in the name of the law. But they never tell that person the actual name. Which is odd, considering. So I still don’t know what the name of the law is because we’ve never been introduced.”

“I… doubt there is a law against carrying teeth. But if there is, you would be guilty.”

“Oh, right. But I didn’t kill anyone…”

“Look, I’ll ask at the city guards’ garrison if anyone has gone missing mysteriously. Or if any toothless corpses have popped up lately.” Rowan promised.

“That’s a great ide-“ Rak gasped: “He could be a grave digger! Stealing dead people’s teeth!” She jumped down from the wall. “I bet he works at night, maybe I can catch him. Sorry, but I have to go! I’ll meet you tomorrow.” As she ran off, she shouted “Thanks for the cake!” and disappeared down a narrow street, bags bobbing around her.

For a second, Rowan considered following her to stop her mad endeavour. On the other hand, she was obviously happy, and much less likely to get into trouble in a deserted graveyard than just about anywhere else.

He shook his head. No matter what tomorrow might bring, at least he had a kender murder mystery to look forward to.

 

o-0-o

 

Unsurprisingly, nobody had gone missing lately and no toothless corpses had turned up in the last seventy four years, when he checked with the Office of the Magistrate of the Guard the next day after his morning run. He’d pushed himself harder than usual, taking several laps around the city up on the battlements, even going a few rounds in the communal training ring after his inquiry at the magistrate. The opponents were mostly new recruits and younger knights who still rattled their armour and the exercise did little to ease the restlessness he felt.

Trying to calm himself into relaxing as Sir Cedric had suggested, Rowan had visited a friend in the city, Selwyn the Book-keeper, an avid collector of old tomes, who owned a scribe’s store down behind the city hall. He spent some time with the old gentleman going over the phrases he remembered from Morgannon’s journal, trying to pinpoint the language. They were going over tomes of Nordmaar dialects when the small bell above the door rang and they both looked up from the books strewn on the table.

“I thought I’d find you here, Sir Beardless.” Michael Kerrigen, who had to stoop slightly to get through the door, grinned.

“Michael?” Rowan got up and they shook hands. “I didn’t know you were in Vingaard, I thought you were stationed at Solanthus after your promotion?”

“I was. But never mind; you’re the interesting man today, if the mess hall rumour is anything to go by.” Michael laughed and nodded at Selwyn: “I’m sorry to break up your party, but I was sent to bring Rowan back.”

“Back? To the garrison? Why?” Rowan asked before thanking Selwyn and hastily leaving the store. “What rumour exactly?”

“Are you in trouble?” Michael asked, the familiar half grin, just about to break forth, reminding Rowan of his time as a squire where Michael’s visits had been the only thing to break the mind numbing tedium. He vividly, and fondly, remembered Michael’s challenges to do things equal parts stupid and dangerous.

Rowan gave a bemused laugh: “Why would I be in trouble?”

“You’ve done _something_. Ryse was itching to get his hands on you. There are about ten servants out searching the grounds for you right now.”

“They’ve found a mage already?” Rowan asked. “I thought they were going to-“ he guiltily stopped himself before saying ‘sit on their hands for weeks’.

“A mage?” Michael asked, setting a brisk pace back to the garrison. “Alright, what is going on? Right now you have a lot of high-ups talking about you. I even overheard Lord Culdrake inform Sir Bordan that he wanted to sit in on the proceedings. So what in the name of the Abyss have you gotten yourself into?”

Rowan sighed, trying to dispel the sinking feeling in his body. “I don’t honestly know. I thought they’d just do what they normally do, turn everything into a matter of politics and leave me out of it.”

“Politics isn’t as bad as you make it out to be.” Michael commented, the half-grin gone from his features. “But what did you do?”

“I killed a… Bad Priest.”

“A… bad seed? What?” Michael asked, frowning in confusion.

“You heard what you thought you heard.” Rowan said. “A priest. A true cleric. Of an evil god. And right now they are trying to find out if I’m insane, deluded or right in that assessment.”

Michael stopped in his tracks. “That’s not possible.” he stated.

“So I’m told. And about a month ago, I would have agreed.” Rowan shook his head. “But after what I saw and felt, disbelieving is fairly difficult. I wish it were otherwise.”

Michael gave him a long, critical stare: “…You’ve certainly moved miles away from the humble days of heraldic lessons.” he finally mused and resumed walking.

Rowan’s thoughts lingered a moment on his squire-time for a very elderly and unadventurous knight; the only one who would take him in, his lack of noble blood or family connections considered. “I only ever had one lesson in heraldry.” Rowan said. “And Sir Perridan fell asleep giving it.”

Michael laughed. “Sir Perridan, the Snoozy.” he commented. “…You know you are entitled to having an adjutant present at the hearing. Do you want me to accompany you?”

“Is that loyalty to a friend, or just curiosity?” Rowan smiled.

“Why can’t it be both?” Michael grinned before turning serious. “If you need me, I’d be happy to attest to your sane and unreasonably unalcoholised character.”

“Thanks, but…” Rowan shook his head. This had taken on proportions he hadn’t quite anticipated. “If I bring an adjutant, it will seem like a defensive move. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I understand. But I’m here if you need me.” Michael nodded, then slapped Rowan’s back: “Calculated move. Pity you hold such disdain for politics. With a few minor adjustments, you know, to your basic personality, you’d probably be good at it.”

o-0-o

 

As Rowan entered the large chamber the council was now convened in, his eyes involuntarily swept the gallery above. Five people were seated up there. He recognised Lord Culdrake, the city’s lord and military leader, and Sir Fendral Uth-Wellan, leader of the Knights of the Crown in Vingaard Keep. He gave the gallery and the three knights from yesterday a respectful bow, grateful for Michael’s forewarning.

“Thank you for joining this _informal_ inquiry at such short notice.” Sir Bordan spoke and a hint of annoyance suddenly entered his demeanour: “This is Obran Ulwick, who kindly agreed to lend his expertise to the case.” he said, gesturing to a man standing by the window with a look of sceptical boredom etched in his features. The white robes he wore, embroidered at the sleeves with strange, silvery symbols, marked him readily as a magic user.

Rowan gave the middle-aged mage a polite bow, to which the man only responded with a disinterested nod of his head.

Taking his seat in front of the three knights of the council, Rowan kept his eyes on Sir Cedric.

“We’ve called you here in case our …gracious visitor has questions, and so you would know where the matter stands.” Sir Cedric explained.

Rowan gave a nod.

“Perhaps you could tell us again what transpired in Friholm?” Sir Cedric began, and Rowan forcibly kept the impatience that sprang up in his mind under control, hastily sorting through the happenings to tell them as quickly as possible.

“That won’t be necessary, I’ve read the report.” came a bored and impatient comment from the white robed mage by the window. “…Unless the gentlemen on the balcony are here for their entertainment.”

Rowan stared at the man, trying to hide his surprise at the interruption.

“I have questions for the young man, and one or two comments and suggestions, if you don’t mind.” Ulwick continued.

“By all means.” Sir Cedric said, a tight twitch pulling the corner of his mouth downwards slightly.

“You claim that this healer-fellow healed ten people while you were watching.” the white robed mage said, crossing to the table to take a seat.

Nothing further seemed forthcoming. “Yes.” Rowan responded.

“And that this person later transferred some injuries you had inflicted on someone else, onto you?”

“Yes.”

“And now you wish to know if this could have been done by magic?”

Instinctively feeling a nasty point hiding in the near future, Rowan gave a “Yes.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised at the insipidness of this question.” Ulwick’s brows met above his nose. “If magic could heal, the time since the Cataclysm would have looked quite differently, wouldn’t it? I really believed this was common knowledge, but it seems I was wrong.”

Rowan stretched out his fingers, pressing them flat against the table top in the hope that he could somehow disperse his building annoyance into the wood.

“I believe the question this council is truly interested in,” Sir Bordan broke in, obviously trying hard to keep his voice level “is whether a mage could make it seem as though he was a healer by use of his craft.”

“Oh, I see.” Ulwick said, in mock epiphany: “The answer, naturally, is yes. A mage _could_ make a couple of hundred people believe they had witnessed a healing. Though why someone so powerful that he could more or less rule the world would muck about in a faraway village filled to the brim with pointless peasants is anyone’s guess.”

“Are you saying magic would not explain it?” Sir Ryse demanded tersely.

“Obviously.” Ulwick all but rolled his eyes. “There are maybe two or three people alive today who could wield something approaching this magnitude of power. And they were all accounted for, being busy with their duties to their brethren and their art, when last I checked. They were not wasting their years of painstaking study and sacrifice to impress a village crowd.”

Flappergasted by Ulwick’s condescending tone, Rowan saw Sir Cedric open his mouth to give a reply to the insults that seemed to fly freely, directed at any and all, but the mage held up a hand to hush him: “That, gentlemen, concludes my questions. Now for my comments and suggestions: Since you seem so eager to blame magic for whatever transpired, let me throw you a bone. Two, in fact. It could perhaps be a magical artefact that someone of low moral fibre got their hands on. It’s highly doubtful that such an item of power exists, however. But, and this is much more likely, a mage could have simply impressed the belief in what transpired into the young man’s …brain.” Ulwick looked at Rowan with one eyebrow raised. “I suspect that would be an all too easy task on a man who can’t even summon up the wit to be at a meeting on time. Perhaps this Friholm town never existed to begin with?” Ulwick gave a disinterested shrug.  

Rowan’s hands clenched into fists: “I received no summons! And I’m gratified a man of your obvious calibre thinks me important enough to be cast that kind of spell on. But please enlighten me as to the purpose of doing so?”

“My dear boy, I merely consult on the magic side of things. Not the personal reasons of the caster.”

“Who would the caster have been, then?” Rowan asked, repeating his Hadburg resolution of emotional, dignified self-restraint at the back of his mind. “Morgannon? Because if it was, it seems odd to me he didn’t make me believe he was casting better spells before I took his head off.”

“As stated previously, perhaps you’ve already forgotten, I do not consult on personal reasons. Only magic. Which could also have let you to believe this healer-fellow existed, when in fact he did not.” Ulwick sneered, annoyance colouring his features.

“How did I bring back a make-believe diary, then?” Rowan pressed. “And if Friholm never existed, then why was I sent there in the first place? Or did I imagine being given an assignment too?” Rowan demanded.

Sir Cedric, now obviously struggling to keep his temper, turned to Ulwick: “There is no doubt Friholm exists. We received a report on suspect events transpiring there and sent Sir Virkhus because of that.”

“I cannot tell what this man witnessed.” The mage’s annoyance was replaced with indifference anew as he indicated Rowan with a bored gesture. “But if you insist the events did happen, I can tell you it wasn’t magic and, as we all know by now, there have been no clerics, and certainly no healing, for three hundred and fifty years. So perhaps it’s worth asking the young man if he might have bumped his head earlier in the narrative than his report has led you to believe, or perhaps been a little too deeply in his cups.”

“Perhaps it’s also worth asking the consulting mage why someone whose honour is his life would falsify a report?” Rowan commented sharply while Sir Cedric, grey moustache bristling, turned to the mage, booming: “This man is a Knight of Solamnia and his honesty is not in question!”

Ulwick gave an unimpressed shrug: “The obvious truth is seldom greeted with open arms, gentlemen. I wonder… Why are you reluctant to consider insanity in a man whose report also states that he spent his time aiding a nest of kender against a human lord? …Honestly, he might as well be trying to get you to swallow a tall tale about dragons.” The mage got up and walked to the door. “If you prefer to believe in true clerics, dragons and law-abiding kender, by all means, don’t hold back.”

The door closed behind the man, leaving the room in stunned, fuming silence.

 

o-0-o

 

”Hi! No, wait… Hey you!” Rak grinned and took a seat at the table in the evening sun. Rowan looked up, surprised.

Rak leaned on the table with an inquisitive expression: “You look weirdly thoughtful. Why are you twirling that neckla-”

“Why is it that me having a thought in my head is a great shock to everyone?” Rowan snapped. Immediately regretting the outburst, he let the necklace his hands had been playing with, without his conscious knowledge, fall to the table and put a hand over it. He closed his eyes for a second, expecting to see Rak’s hurt expression when he opened them: “I’m Sorry.” he said and met her gaze. There was no hurt, only a kind of curious worry. They stared at each other across the table.

“You had a bad day, didn’t you?” Raksana said seriously. “Like that day when I was really angry before we got home to Houlinpoket but then remembered it was all just because I was really missing Spinkle so much it hurt and was scared and sad about telling my mum and dad.”

“I… Yes, I think so. Something like that. Though I’m not missing something, I think mostly I’m confused.”

“What about? That nail?”

“In a way.” Rowan looked around at the other people sitting at the teashop tables in the small yard and felt very certain, from the looks he was getting, that he was about to be told the establishment didn’t serve kender. He sighed under his breath and put some coins on the table for the very pleasantly shaped young waitress. “Let’s take a walk. I’ll tell you what happened.” he said.

“Alright.” Rak, oblivious to the stares, happily jumped down from the chair and followed.

“How did you find me, by the way?” Rowan asked as they joined the crowds on the street, passersby giving Rak an annoyed or alarmed wide berth.

“Oh, I just saw you. Can I see that nail thing?” She held out her hand and Rowan gave the necklace to her, keeping a finger curled around the chain as she examined it.

“Is it magical?” she asked, releasing the curled up nail.

Rowan gave a laugh and put it back around his neck: “No. It’s not a magical nail.”

“It’s sort of a bit rusty and maybe… a little strange?” Rak gave him a sideways glance, clearly thinking him not quite sane.

“My older brother gave it to me.”

“You have a brother?” Rak beamed at him. “That’s great! Is he a knight too? What’s his name?”

“His name is Jarred and no, he’s not a knight. We haven’t spoken for… five years now. Did I ever tell you I used to be a mercenary?” Rowan added before Rak could comment on his brother.

“No. You killed people for money? You have about as many secrets as Ben does. …And that’s a lot.”

“I… did kill people for money. Yes. I guess you could say that. Soldiers, though. Never civilians. I was hardly more than a child when I joined them; I was seventeen. It was stupid, I suppose, but I didn’t know what else to do with myself. When I quit, I applied for becoming a squire in the knighthood and after some… problems, they accepted me. But then I went home, for yuletide, for the first time in three years and told my family what I’d decided to do with my life-”

“I love snow and yuletide! I bet they were really proud!”

“No!” Rowan stated. “My mother started crying. She said ‘Now everyone will hate my boy’.” He cringed a bit at the memory.

“What?” Rak stopped in her tracks. “That’s stupid!” she exclaimed angrily. “Nobody hates you. Because you’re a really nice person. That’s just dumb and unfair. Doesn’t she even know you?”

Rowan felt a surprising bubble of laughter form in his mind. He’d never told any of this to anyone and the tension he’d felt since the day before seemed suddenly more distant. “Thanks, Rak. And, yes, she knows me, but she also knows the knighthood. We aren’t welcome everywhere. Remember in Friholm, when they threw rocks at us?”

“Oh.” Rak just said, frowning in thought. “But that wasn’t fair!” she finally stated.

“Maybe not. But it still happened.”

“Humans…” Rak just said, shaking her head sadly. “So anyway, the nail? It’s a really strange gift. Why did your brother give it to you?”

“Oh, yeah… well… When I told him I had joined the knighthood, he thought I was joking. When he realised I wasn’t, he said ‘You joined the Oath and the Moustache?!’” Rowan explained, and finally the bubble of laughter burst. It had seemed so hurtful back then. He grinned. “Jarred also commented that the knights have a stick so far up their butts they can use it to nail their beards to.”

Rak burst out laughing. “That’s really rude!”

“Mhm.” Rowan confirmed, smiling. “Then, when I was leaving to go back to the knight I squired for, he gave me the nail. To use with the moustache he was sure I was going to grow. I kept it and had a smith curl it up and put a chain on it.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen a lot of those around this place. Moustaches, that is. But you don’t have one.”

Rowan shrugged, still smiling: “I got stubborn, I suppose. But I’ve kept the nail as a reminder not to let myself become too …pretentious about my status as a knight. To be the sort of person who helps others if at all possible and not let myself be swept up in useless personal politics.”

“If you didn’t have that nail, would you have been unpleasant to me?” the kender asked.

Rowan thought it over for a little while. “Maybe I would.” he admitted.

“You should tell your brother, then. And I met some of those moustaches earlier and asked them about where the nearest graveyard was and they just looked at me all funny, like I had a booger on my face or something. So I checked, but I didn’t, and then they walked away. That was really not very nice.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Rowan said. “But how did your graveyard expedition turn out?” he quickly added, hoping to herd the kender’s thoughts away to happier pastures.

“Oh, it didn’t really yield much. And then I fell asleep. So now my quest is a bit slow and I’m hoping you can help.”

“Well, I asked the city guard and there have been no corpses missing their teeth found in the city.”

“No corpses, huh?” Rak pensively trudged along: “Why would there be no corpses?” she asked, obviously rhetorically. She suddenly stopped, a look of gleeful horror in her features.

“He’s a cannibal too!” she stated.

Rowan bit his lip not to laugh loudly: “That’s perhaps a bit of a wild assumption.”

“No, no, I’m figuring it out!” Raksana stated. “It makes a lot of sense.”

“Well, no… Your mysterious criminal couldn’t eat the bones, could he? Which would still leave toothless, fresh skeletons to be found.” Rowan tried, scrambling for a persuasive argument.

“Not if he ground the bones at a mill!” Rak snapped her fingers. “Quick! I need to find the nearest mill. I have to ask the miller if you can grind human bones to flour.” She looked up at Rowan, eyes wide: “Maybe he could even be a tooth-collecting, murderous cannibal baker! It’s perfect for hiding his crime!”

“I don’t think-“

“Thank you so much for helping me. I have to go now.” she yelled as she dashed off.

Rowan stood looking after her, not certain if he should be amused or worried, the hypothetical sentence ‘Hello, I’d like these human bones ground to flour, please’ echoing in his mind. He suspected all the mills in the area had closed for the day. If not, then somewhere out there was a miller about to have a very strange conversation.

 

o-0-o

 

“…And so we’ve called you here to let you know about the council’s decision.” Sir Cedric said, giving Rowan something that almost became a smile, but was well hidden under the moustache.

Rowan gave a nod, feeling the situation in the small council room, this time devoid of a balcony, quite familiar by now, although a tiny anxiety was seeded at the back of his mind, ready to blossom.

“After the …expert” Sir Bordan said, a ghost of tension settling for a moment in the room, “informed us that magic was unlikely to be the reason behind the Friholm incident, we find ourselves faced with three main possibilities. That a magic item was somehow to blame. That magic was used on you for an unknown purpose.” he nodded at Rowan, “Or that an evil god has somehow returned.”

“None of these options are pleasant, naturally.” Sir Ryse said. “But whatever transpired-“

 _…is not worth the Knighthood’s precious time_ Rowan finished the sentence in his mind.

“…we find it imperative to understand it, and a group whose purpose it is to travel to Friholm and investigate, is being put together as we speak.”

Rowan felt his shoulders drop, unaware how tense he had been. He did his best to keep his expression free of his surprise, but was uncertain if he succeeded.

“As for the journal, it is now on its way to a linguist in Palanthas who can hopefully translate it.” Sir Cedric finished.

All three knights across the table leaned back in their seats as if per unspoken agreement.

“To finish this;” Sir Cedric said, “is there something you wish to add?”

“I’m grateful for the council’s decision, Sir.” Rowan said.

“Good. Good.” Sir Cedric commented. “Until the investigators return, you should limit yourself to assignments in this province, in case we need to recall you for further questions. Your Master of Arms will be informed. Dismissed.”

Rowan stood, gave the council a bow and left the chamber with a nagging shame at the back of his mind. He had fully expected the Knighthood to dismiss his report and perhaps even ridicule him for daring to make it. He took this surprising lesson in humility to heart, but was unable to hide his smile.

 

o-0-o

 

“Sir Rowan.”

“Mr. Edwards.” Rowan smiled. Despite having celebrated yuletide with Selwyn and Mr. Edwards three years in a row, the elderly administrator of the communal building of the garrison had still not been able to forego the “Sir”.

“A man of the guard was here, inquiring after you a short while ago. He said…” Mr. Edwards hesitated. “It was really most peculiar. He said that a development had happened concerning… teeth, and that you should contact the Office of the Magistrate as soon as possible.”

Rowan felt his happiness begin to chip.

 

o-0-o

 

The evening bell tolled as Rowan entered the small plaza behind the garrison and spotted Raksana sitting on the wall, absorbed in playing some sort of flute she was holding. Small pieces of surprisingly unbroken melody drifted across the plaza to greet him and his companion.

She looked up and her smile quickly turned to a frown when she noticed the bearded man walking beside Rowan.

“Raksana Shinypalm of Houlinpoket.” Rowan said. “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Chandler.“

“Oh, Hello.” Rak said, looking at the man. “Pleased to meet you.” She held out a hand which Mr. Chandler shook after a pause. Then he retreated to a safe distance.

“Who is he?” Rak whispered to Rowan after an awkward moment.

“Mr. Chandler here is the rightful owner of the bag of teeth you were kind enough to keep safe and he would like them back.” Rowan smiled, laughter lurking just under the surface.

“You found him!” Rak stated, staring wide-eyed at the bearded man. “I’d forgotten all about that after the miller gave me this!” she held out the flute fashioned from an animal bone. “Isn’t he dangerous?” she added out of the corner of her mouth.

Rowan slowly shook his head.

 “Why are you the owner of a lot of teeth?” Raksana promptly demanded and pointed at Mr. Chandler with the flute, a puzzled frown on her face. “Can I see your mouth?”

“Ehm… I get the teeth from the smith when people have a tooth pulled, little miss.” the man responded.

“But why? Don’t you have any yourself? Because I can see your front teeth when you speak, so it seems really odd.” Raksana jumped down from the wall, and Mr. Chandler took a step back.

“I sell them to a man in Palanthas who makes false teeth for people who lost all theirs.” he explained, eyes flickering to the tooth-bag hanging at Rak’s side.

She gave him a long, blank look, obviously turning this information over in her mind.

“Alright. I’m happy I found them then!” She smiled brightly and handed the bag to him. “You know, you should be much more careful about your belongings in the future. Some thief could have come along and grabbed your teeth. You’re just lucky it was me, but there are no guarantees next time.”

Mr. Chandler took the bag, looked the teeth over and quickly turned to Rowan: “Thank you so much, Sir. I would have been unable to put food on the table this month if not for your help.”

“You’re welcome.” Rowan gave Mr. Chandler a nod. Then he and Raksana stared at the man as he hurried off and disappeared down a street.

After a moment’s silence, Rak turned to stare at Rowan: “How did you find that guy?” she asked; her voice full of sceptical wonder.

“The city guard reacted when he reported the teeth missing. They remembered I had asked about teeth and let me know.”

“False. Teeth.”  Raksana stated. “Other people’s teeth. In your mouth… In your _mouth_!”

Rowan started laughing softly but Rak looked up at him, deeply serious: “That was _so_ much more bizarre than my explanation!”

 

 

  


End file.
